by Emma Hamm
“That’s fine. It’s a good first step, and if he says nothing?”
“Then I will light the candle that night.”
Was this the right choice? She wouldn’t know until she took the leap, but it still felt wrong.
Scáthach stood up. “Come then, see me out of the castle.”
“You’re leaving? Already?” Elva stood as well, not sure how she felt about her greatest mentor leaving. It had been a relief to have Scáthach there.
Perhaps that was just her need for a mother showing its ugly head. Scáthach always made her feel as though someone had wrapped a warm blanket around her shoulders. The warrior woman took control of every situation she strode into. It was her way.
Now, Elva would return to a life where she had to do something, anything, but unfortunately all the choices were her own. No one else would be helping guide her in the right direction.
“Yes,” Scáthach replied with a chuckle. “There are many who still need my training. But you?” She reached forward and took Elva’s face in her hands. “You are so much stronger than the rest of them. I’ve always known that.”
“I didn’t show up strong.”
“No one does. You all arrive at my door broken with your hearts hanging from your chests. I know what it feels like to have a man betray you. To rip out everything you were and are.” Scáthach leaned forward and pressed her forehead against Elva’s. “You have become something so much more than the pretty little faerie who walked all the way to the Isle of Skye.”
Elva hoped the warrior woman was right.
12
Something had changed, and he didn’t know what it was. Donnacha stepped into the darkness of her bedroom and felt as though he’d walked into a warzone. She wasn’t seated in the chairs as they usually did before she grew tired enough for sleep.
Instead, Elva was already sitting on her side of the bed, staring at something in her hands. The light was too dim for him to make out what it was.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
She flinched at the sound of his voice, then tilted her head toward him. “I didn’t think you would be here so soon.”
He hadn’t either. The change from bear to man had happened quicker than usual tonight. He didn’t want to think about what that meant. The Troll Queen had something up her sleeve, as usual. It was torture to try to figure out what she had planned. Thus, he didn’t even try.
Donnacha strode toward her. “How was your visit?”
He didn’t like that Scáthach had been here, but it wasn’t his right to say she couldn’t visit her protégé. Elva had spoken of the woman like some kind of goddess. She’d said Scáthach had given her everything she had needed to become something more than the fragile faerie woman she’d always been.
Fragile? Donnacha had nearly burst into laughter when she’d said the words. He highly doubted she was ever a fragile woman.
Even now, he could easily picture her as she used to be. A golden flower in the middle of a field. A symbol of what a woman could become once they were sure of their strength, a woman to be reckoned with.
He’d met her kind before, the Seelie women who were so beautiful they were intimidating. As a boy, he’d wanted nothing more than to see them just a few more times, to catch a lock of their golden hair so he could remember the vision as they strode past.
Of course, the faeries had never let him close enough to do that. But he’d stolen a lock of her hair while she slept.
Was it unfair that he’d stolen from her? Perhaps. But the strand had been cast aside as if she didn’t know how lovely she was. Someone should keep it.
He’d wound it around his thumb and wore it as a ring. She hadn’t noticed it yet, likely wouldn’t, considering she couldn’t see him in the dark. It was better that way. Elva would easily realize he was growing far too attached to her.
Donnacha couldn’t explain the feelings in his chest as he knelt in front of her. She was more than just a woman. More than just a faerie who had strode into his home, threatening his way of life.
She was strong, capable, and so unsure of herself that it made his heart break. She didn’t see herself the way he saw her. She didn’t see the way her inner light lit up the world wherever she walked.
“Elva,” he said quietly, swallowing hard. “Are you all right?”
He didn’t want everything to change just because Scáthach had been here. He knew it might. The warrior woman had a hold over her charges like a queen in her kingdom.
He had just hoped it wouldn’t change so much that she wouldn’t even talk to him.
Donnacha sighed, then stood. He wasn’t going to change her mind by kneeling at her feet like a supplicant at prayer. No matter how much he would have sang the hymns for her happiness.
Rounding the bed felt a little bit like going to his grave, and pulling back the covers and getting in felt like burying himself. He’d known this would happen. Few women could remain interested in someone who was a bear during the day. The hope that had bloomed in his chest was a fool’s errand. How could he not be disappointed?
The furs on the other side of the bed shifted as she joined him in the warmth. He flipped onto his back but hesitated a moment. Staring down at the shadows of his hands, he wondered what he could have done differently.
Should he have not let Scáthach in? That would have only made her hate him. She wasn’t a prisoner here, damn it.
He tugged the furs up to his bare shoulders, perhaps a little too harshly. She’d know now he was upset, and the last thing he wanted was to make things more difficult for her. Scáthach had helped shape her into the person he so admired. That had to mean something.
Was this jealousy? Donnacha forced his hand to remain still under the furs even though he wanted to scrub his face vigorously. He had no right to feel jealous over someone from her past. Hell, she was older than he was in faerie years. She’d done more in that time, and more people, than he could imagine. After all, faeries weren’t chaste like humans.
Jealousy had no place in their relationship. He’d run her out of the castle with that thought process. But the mere idea of someone else touching her, someone else having her respect and trust… It cut him to the bone.
“Donnacha?” Her voice floated out of the darkness.
“Yes?”
“Don’t move.”
“Okay.” He hoped his voice didn’t show how much his heart had lifted at her mere words.
Elva shifted in the bed, drawing closer to him. He had thought she wanted to hold his hand again. That had been nice. It was the only way he could think to describe it. Nice because it made his lungs cease to breath, his stomach tie in knots, and his throat close up because he had been the one to help her get to that point.
He’d helped. All he wanted to do with anyone was to help.
She slid closer, and then he felt heat blanket his side. It wasn’t much really, just a woman resting her head on his shoulder. But gods, it felt like he’d moved the earth.
Donnacha remained as still as he could. Her body was stiff as a board against his, but that was all right. She could warm up to him slowly; he wouldn’t rush her.
Finally, he felt a warm exhale against his neck. “You’re very short.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Well, I am a dwarf.”
“I expected you to be…”
“Like a faerie?” He shrugged. “Not quite. Does that make a difference?”
Donnacha lost his breath when her hand came up to hesitantly rest on his chest. “No, I don’t think it does.”
Stay still, he told himself. Don’t touch her. Because this wasn’t about him. This was about her taking back her independence, choosing to touch another person and see how far she could push herself.
But then he might die if he didn’t touch her.
“Donnacha?”
“Yes, Elva?”
Her head shifted on his chest, letting the full weight of her body fall against his heart. It was perfect. This moment
when he finally had her in his arms, when she finally let go of her fear and trusted him not to hurt her, was perfect.
“Can you just…hold me?”
Could he? Donnacha had to tense his muscles so he didn’t suddenly snap his arms around her so tight her back would creak. Carefully and, oh so slowly, he wrapped one of his arms around her.
His palm flat against her spine, just above the curve of her hip, felt as though he were touching divinity. She was so kind, so giving, and so unbearably strong to be doing this now when he knew what had happened to her.
If he sank into her heat a little more comfortably, it was because he didn’t want her to think he was nervous. If he tilted his head a little bit to smell the wildflowers in her hair, it was only because he was trying to fall asleep.
These were the things Donnacha reminded himself as he drifted off. All was right in the world.
-----
Elva waited until she heard his breath even out before she let anxiety run her actions. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t take this entire situation in her own hands just because she didn’t truly trust him.
Who was this man? Was Scáthach right? Could she break the curse by looking at him?
She’d meant to ask him before he fell asleep, meant to whisper a question of whether it would work. But then she’d remembered he couldn’t answer her even if she asked.
The warmth of his body eased her anxiety a little bit. It was worth taking the risk to help him. He felt…good. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had felt good in her arms.
Then again, he was the first man to hold her in his arms and not want anything more than that. Elva had thought he would at least tug her closer, that he’d try to take charge of the situation somehow, but he hadn’t. Instead, he’s simply looped his arm around her like he’d done it a thousand times before and snuggled closer.
He didn’t push. He didn’t force her to do something she didn’t want to do just to please him. Instead, he was there for her in quiet solitude.
Gods, this man was twisting up her insides. Suddenly, she questioned everything about men that she thought she’d understood. Had she been so wrong? Had she wasted so much time hating everyone and everything when this man had been out there?
She reached behind her for the wick of the candle she’d hidden in the furs. Her hands started to shake. All she had to do was one little spell, a candle lighting spell that every faerie knew since they were a child, and then voila.
Elva didn’t like using magic. She’d always thought it felt a little unnatural when she could use her hands to do the same thing. Not to mention he had always wanted her to use magic. Over and over again until she was exhausted by the effort of it. Until she vowed to never use magic again because it still reeked of his lingering scent.
She wondered if Donnacha knew how to cast spells. Dwarves usually did, so he must be able to. Then he knew she could cast light whenever she wanted, and he’d always trusted her not to do this.
Or maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe he just preferred the darkness to the light.
Was he ugly? She doubted it, although his chest was covered in more hair than she was used to with faerie men. Still, ugliness was more about what was on the inside. Of all people, she should know that.
Just do it, she told herself. Get it over with and then it’s done.
All it took was one little flex of power, and the candle was lit. The flame danced in front of her eyes, merry that life had been given to it. A drop of wax heated, melted, then dripped down to touch her fingertip.
Looking down, she stared into the face of the man who had given her so much and who had no idea she was breaking the rules.
Donnacha was handsome, she realized breathlessly. Not in the way of faerie men, no dwarf could ever be beautiful like that. His attractiveness came from the depths of the earth as his kind always did. His cheekbones were the marbled cliffs of the mountains. His beard brown and warm as the earth. Long lashes fanned out over his cheeks and tumbling curls of dark locks spread across the pillow.
He was as stunning as he was hard. Strong as he was kind. A conundrum of a person and yet…perfect.
So damned perfect.
What was she doing? He was asleep, and she was gawking at him like a child. She shouldn’t tell him she’d done this, whether the curse broke or not. Resolving to do just that, she leaned forward to blow out the candle, then watched in horror as a drop of wax fell from her fingertip and struck his collarbone.
He sucked in a breath, opened eyes so vividly blue it made her heart hurt, and met her gaze.
Would he be angry? Would he yell at her now when he never had before?
She prepared herself to hide the flinch, to retreat back into the cage of her mind.
But then, he smiled.
A great big smile that stretched across his features like the sun peeking over the horizon. He had crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes and dimples on his cheeks. But it was the laughter bubbling in those blue depths that made her heart melt all over again.
He reached up in the golden candlelight and cupped her cheek. “You’re even more beautiful with these eyes,” he whispered. “You’re a walking heartbreak, you stunning woman.”
She held her breath as he drew her down, his breath fanning across her lips. He inhaled deeply, his chest touching hers, but he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he merely held her in place while he asked, “If this is a dream, then kiss me.”
Oh, how Elva wanted this to be a dream. The sadness in his voice was almost more than she could bear.
She leaned forward before she could rethink her decision. Pressing her lips against his was the answer to a question she’d had for years.
Yes, his mouth seemed to say she could have him. She could have all of him without the guilt, without the fear, without the ghosts in her ears telling her she’d never be good enough. And, damned, if it didn’t feel like he’d just healed a broken part of her soul.
His hands flexed against her back, then Donnacha pulled back enough to breathe. “This isn’t a dream, is it?”
“No.”
He stared into her eyes, smoothing aside a curl that had fallen in front of her face. “Listen to me, Elva. I need you to find me.”
She furrowed her brows. Find him? He was right here in her arms, and she was quite certain she knew exactly where he was.
“East of the sun and west of the moon,” he continued. “Remember that. Say it.”
“East of the sun, west of the moon.” It was an impossible place. There wasn’t a way to get in those directions.
“Good,” he said. “I’m so sorry you were pulled into this.”
And then, he disappeared.
She only had a moment to realize before she hit the bed. “What?” she cried out before the floor tilted. The ice itself heaved and opened a tunnel where the wall had been. Had the castle entirely turned on its side?
She couldn’t hold on and, with a scream, she slipped out of the bed, hit the ice, and slid down the tunnel.
Shards of ice tore at her skin and bedclothes. Elva covered her head with her arms, feeling them become slick with blood almost immediately as more and more shards sank into her flesh.
The wind blasted by her ears as she tumbled wildly from the castle, only to be tossed into the frigid air. She pinwheeled her arms, trying to turn her body before she struck, but to no avail.
Elva hit the snow hard, rolled through it, and settled in the cold. Breathing hard, she turned just in time to see the castle crumble. She did not have time to escape before the large chunks of ice and stone rained down upon her head.
13
Donnacha landed on his hands and knees. Hard stone met his body, sending a cracking pain to ricochet through joints. He’d be fine. They knew that or they wouldn’t have summoned him so quickly, but that didn’t mean he was happy about the treatment.
Her kiss still heated his lips. He wanted to touch them, but knew the Troll Queen would see the movement.
Instead, he darted out his tongue to catch the lingering taste of her.
Ambrosia and caramel, he realized with a pleased grin. He’d never forget that was what she tasted like.
“Welcome, dwarf.” The Troll Queen’s voice boomed through what he assumed was her great hall. It wasn’t much of one.
He looked up, casting his gaze over the gray stones and the dingy interior. It looked as though it had never been cleaned. Piles of refuse were heaped in the corners, food slopped on the floor, and dirt that had been tracked in from the outside smeared the stones with brown. Or perhaps it was blood. The trolls were a rather brutal race.
The Troll Queen sat with her daughter in twin thrones at the head of the room. She was as thin in person as he remembered her with a skeletal body that appeared to be made out of stone. Hard eyes stared at him in disgust. Long nails tapped against the arms of her throne as if he was the one wasting her time.
The daughter, however, was just as awful as he remembered. Where the mother was made of stone, her daughter was made of bark. The Troll Princess was a horrid creature, wrinkled and brown with knots of color along her skin, making her appear mottled. Tusks rose up from her bottom jaw to nearly touch her cheeks, above which beady eyes stared at him in hunger.
“The dwarf!” the Troll Princess exclaimed. “Mother, did you bring me the dwarf?”
“I did, my sweet.” Her mother reached out to run a hand over her daughter’s head, three clumps of thin hair sticking to her fingers. “Isn’t he what you wanted?”
“He’s perfect.”
Donnacha tried to still the shiver that danced down his spine. He knew what the trolls wanted him for. They couldn’t procreate with each other. Somewhere in the troll inbreeding, they’d managed to doom themselves. Or at least, that was what the rest of the faeries thought.
Unfortunately, this meant they were now kidnapping other faeries and forcing them to help bring children into the world. This was rather hard when the kidnapped individual was male, but he was certain they had ways of getting around that.